


Maleficari's Mutinous Munitions

by hes5thlazarus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Canon Compliant, Comedy, Gen, Hogwarts Professors, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hes5thlazarus/pseuds/hes5thlazarus
Summary: Sprout grew the wrong kind of mandrakes--mandragora, rather than English mandrakes, and no one knew that there actually was an infinitesimal difference--so Severus needs to save the day before Lockhart can. A little of Slytherin cunning, a willingness to embezzle, and a sense of spite wins the day.
Relationships: Minerva McGonagall & Severus Snape
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Maleficari's Mutinous Munitions

Pomona planted the wrong kind of mandrake--a mandragora, not a proper English mandrake--though none of them knew it would be the wrong kind when they reviewed the syllabus. The faculty is stunned. Severus leans back in his chair and rubs the bridge of his nose. The headache is not building yet, but he knows it will.   
  
Sure enough, Gilderoy Lockhart begins to speak. “Well, no matter,” he flourishes. Severus’ expression tightens, and he exchanges a glance with Minerva. Lockhart continues, “Now, with my fast-growing Miracle-Gro I concocted on a swift trip to the American South, asked by the natives of the colony of New Georgia to battle kudzu, their offshoot of Devil’s Snare--”   
  
“Kudzu and Devil’s Snare are completely unrelated,” Pomona says repressively, “and not to mention that you would want the opposite of growth with--”   
  
Lockhart barrels on, “My unique fertilizer will win the day for us. Never fear, colleagues! I am not  _ just _ the five-times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile award--there are brains a plenty to back up the beauty.”   
  
“Brains,” Severus says, “so that is the secret to the shellac of your hair. I assumed you used a dingbat.” Minerva does not elbow him, and she does not laugh, but she does wink. Severus, of course, does not smirk back--that is his customary grimace crossing his face. Before Lockhart can offer to share hair care tips, for the price of a single smile, Severus turns to Pomona. “I will consult my suppliers in Diurn Alley. Mandrake, rather than mandragora--who wants to tell Granger there is an infinitesimal difference?”   
  
Lockhart says, “Man drakes, woman drakes, what does it matter? With my Miracle-Gro compound, your potion will hardly know the difference!”    
  
Pomona puts her head in her hands, and the staff meeting adjourns before Severus can get nasty. Fuming, he billows down the corridor. Lockhart infuriates him. Anyone would have been better than him, anyone--the most notorious pureblood fake on both sides of the Atlantic. Surely Dumbledore could have begged Emmeline Vance to come back, or even had the staff rotate the lessons so the curse would be watered down. At least he can take some satisfaction that something nastily embarrassing will happen to Lockhart by the end of the year. Severus hopes it’s the fatal kind of embarrassing. He hopes his teeth fall out as he attempts to skewer a teenage mandrake, his earmuffs going askew as he panics, and as the mandrake screams in rage and pain Lockhart is knocked unconscious and slams his head against a wall, dying instantly. Severus smiles grimly to himself at the fantasy: but fate is not that good to him. Footsteps patter up to him, and he whirls around to see Minerva staring at him.   
  
“You need to get those mandrakes, Severus,” she says. “I will...keep Professor Lockhart entertained.”

  
“Truly the long-suffering Gryffindor,” he returns. “I should think it’s only right we volunteer Albus for the job.”    
  
Minerva snorts. “Diabolical. He’s already left for the Ministry, to request us a permit. It’s too late.”   
  
Severus says, “The man should’ve been a Slytherin. Bastard. You take Lockhart, and I’ll have those mandrakes found, cut, and stewed by daybreak.” He beats a retreat before she can change her mind.   
  
Dumbledore will get him the permit, so Severus Floos to his flat in Diurn Alley and walks quickly and unabashedly to Knockturn Alley, where he’ll get better prices. It is always better to ask forgiveness rather than permission, he feels--every time he has asked, he has been told no, and the school cannot wait for him to scheme his way into the Ministry’s good graces. Besides, he can breathe here. The usual snarling denizens of the darker side of town eye him. A hag attempts to sell him some bile, he flicks her back and she spits at him, so he spits back. He can always use an excuse to fight, since he cannot blast Lockhart to eternity.   
  
He enters Maleficari’s Mutinous Munitions with a sneer fixed on his face and the goal to spend no more than two galleons for the whole lot. Pomona is too easily distracted by the wares, and Minerva too prone to refusing to bargain in a self-righteous huff. Only he has the mixture of silky disdain and oily flattery that can win them this--and a flagrant disrespect for the law, but that is neither here nor dare. Dumbledore is taking care of that bit, and Dumbledore never fails a promise. People, yes, he’ll perpetually disappoint, but an iron-clad vow? That Dumbledore will never break.   
  
The shopkeeper looks up and says, “Professor Snape. How good of you to peruse my wares. Might I interest you in a drink?”   
  
The drink will be poisoned, of course, that is part of the fun of Maleficari’s Munitions. Severus keeps a bezoar on his person for trips such as these. He bows slightly. “Alas,” he drawls, “I am here for business, not pleasure. You have heard of the trouble at the school?” He casts the line and waits for Maleficari to be hooked. Maleficari’s strange jeweled eyes glitter. He deals in ingredients, yes, but who doesn’t also love a bit of gossip?   
  
“Witch Weekly’s Walking Smile causing complaints?” Maleficari offers. He pours himself a steaming green shot of what seems to be wormwood liqueur mixed with ground doxy wings. Severus’ nostrils flare: but he assures himself the effects are negligible.   
  
“Professor Lockhart performs adequately by his own standards,” Severus says neutrally. “He has only deboned one student, who has no living parents to complain, and thus meets the bare minimum standard of Hogwarts classroom etiquette. But no,” he draws closer, looming over Maleficari and drinking in the scent, “I have come for other trouble. A favor for the faculty at large.”   
  
“Extracurricular?” Maleficari whispers, tongue darting quick over his lips.   
  
Severus smiles grimly. “No,” he says. “Some old magic has wakened in the school. At least two students have been found petrified solid--but their vitals in status. Old,  _ interesting _ magic.”   
  
Maleficari says, “And an enigma too. You don’t know what it is yet, do you?”   
  
“The school is requisitioning five teenage mandrakes from the Ministry,” Severu says archly. “I thought I would save you the paperwork and come to you directly.”   
  
Maleficari laughs. He stares at him with his refracting diamond eyes and Severus Occludes hurriedly. He feels the Legilimancy probe, and offers up an old memory of leafing through paperwork with Albus, Minerva pacing in the background. Maleficari withdraws, and Severus looks at him expressionlessly. Most know that he is a Potions Master, some know he is an expert Legilimens, but he keeps his mastery of Occlumency to himself.   
  
“Living or dead?” Maleficari says. “I’m certain we can arrange something before the Ministry raids my stores.”   
  
Severus smirks, pays two galleons, and writes off five in his expenses. If Dumbledore knows he certainly never asks.


End file.
